


Walk Away Now and You're Gonna Start a War

by Niallaeger



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Angst, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Lack of Communication, M/M, Payzer, Recreational Alcohol Consumption, Soccer!au, alcohol mention, danielle isn't prominent either, josh and ben aren't prominent characters, they're just sort of mentioned, ziall with side larry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-26
Updated: 2015-05-26
Packaged: 2018-04-01 07:52:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,285
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4011769
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Niallaeger/pseuds/Niallaeger
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Even the glass of water he had tried to force himself to drink, while sitting on the floor by the bedroom in Niall’s apartment debating whether or not he should bother to get up, left such a horrid taste on his tongue that he couldn’t make it past the first couple sips. It was like all the words he hadn’t said that morning mixed with the bitter taste of the ones he hadn’t had the decency to hold back, and now they’re just lingering, in his head, over his tongue, making his stomach turn, and now Harry’s asking him if he’s alright because he looks a little sick and all Zayn can do is nod.</p>
<p>Or, the one where Zayn doesn't think he can do anything right, and Niall just needs a little time. Basically, your soccer!AU with a healthy dose of angst.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Walk Away Now and You're Gonna Start a War

**Author's Note:**

  * For [venividivici](https://archiveofourown.org/users/venividivici/gifts).



> Thank you to venividivici for your wonderful prompts. I hope you don't mind that I took your second request and tweaked it. Shout out to Lex for organizing the entire exchange, and giving me that desperately needed extension.
> 
> Last but not least, thank you to Louise (zanyemajik on ao3, loamsweetloam on tumblr) for being the world's greatest fic cheerleader, and for convincing me that what I had written wasn't absolutely horrible.
> 
> Fic Notes:
> 
> The Red Bulls and the New York Cosmos are two professional soccer teams. The Red Bulls are technically called The New York Red Bulls, but because their home stadium is in Harrison New Jersey, people generally drop the ‘New York.’ The Cosmos are based in Hempstead New York, out on Long Island, and their team’s colors are green. The Red Bulls colors are white and red.
> 
> This is a work of pure fiction, do not upload this anywhere else on the internet, please do not share this work with the members of One Direction, nor anyone affiliated with them (past or present). Thank you.
> 
> Title taken from Start A War by The National
> 
> Enjoy! xx

**Pre-game/Warm Up**

 

“Christ, not this again,” Harry says as he sits himself down in the seat next to Zayn, stretching out his legs. He’s brought an assortment of snacks over from the refreshments table in the back of the room. Cup of cubed fruit, bottle of water, some packets of salted peanuts. Basically, he won’t be moving for a while.

 

Zayn’s on round three of snake, fixed in the same position he’s been in since he sat down five minutes ago. He’s got no intention of moving either, not even a faint nod to acknowledge Harry and Danielle when they speak to him.

 

Harry continues to be seemingly in shock by the Nokia’s slightly better than mint condition. “I haven’t seen this ages!” Still no response from Zayn. “Why’ve you got it out? Where’s the fancy schmancy phone you supposedly texted me from a couple days ago?”

 

“Dunno.” Isn’t a total lie.

 

“You’ve lost it already?”

 

“Yeah.” Well, pieces of it. Half of its remains were actually in the breast pocket of his coat.

 

“Where’d you lose it?”

 

“In a cab, probably.” He’d actually hurled it at the wall of his boyfriend’s bedroom and lost some of the pieces behind the bedside dresser, but Harry doesn’t need to know any of that. Not now. Not ever, if Zayn can help it. Harry would just want to fix it, play puppet master, and although it’s a job he’s damn good at, it wouldn’t be right. Zayn would suck Harry’s attention away from the game, from the most important game in the lives of the ones they love the most, and so Zayn’s mouth stays shut. He tells himself he doesn’t need Harry’s familiar hug and soothing voice telling him everything is going to be okay simply because it always is, so he continues to slouch in his chair, eyes fixed on the line of squares moving across the screen.

 

Then it freezes, and the screen is filled with a flashing outline of a battery with a diagonal line through its middle. Not thinking, he drops his hands, and lifts his head for the first time since he sat down. Looking out into the packed stadium, that’s where it hits him. When he realizes his life is confined to boxes that keep getting smaller and farther apart.

 

From his hours spent at the lab working slightly hunched over a fume hood, to hotel room after hotel room booked with a fake name. From a couple of drawers set aside for things he might want the morning after a night spent in his boyfriend’s cold apartment that’s never quite felt like a home, to right here, right now, in the luxury club seats overlooking the Red Bulls Arena. The boxes were always a different size, a different location, constructed around him because of a different excuse so he had never really noticed them, but now there are no decent distractions.

 

So the commentators’ voices invade his space and fill Zayn’s head.

 

_“Say John, we’ve heard from a lot of so-called experts over the past few weeks about how your team is going to do this season, would you care to weigh in?”_

_“Well Kevin, if you’re like me and keep up with the college soccer scene and are fortunate enough to have half a brain, you know the Red Bulls have managed to pull some fine young men this year.”_

_“Yes, and I believe three of them are starting this game. Kicking off the season, if you will.”_

_“That’s absolutely right Kevin, they’ve got Liam Payne in goal, with Louis Tomlinson and Niall Horan taking up the middle of that 4-4-2 formation the Red Bulls are so fond of.”_

_“From what I’ve heard of how they play, I can’t wait to see how they work that mid-field.”_

_“You’re not the only one!”_

_“And don’t I know it John! Over in the Club Box overlooking the half-field line is local artist Harry Styles, the long time boyfriend of Tomlinson. Seated next to him is Payne’s latest love interest, district attorney Danielle Peazer.”_

_“And I actually think there’s someone else in there with them, Kevin.”_

_“I believe that’s Zayn Malik, close friend of Niall Horan. Hey, maybe if we’re lucky we can get their thoughts after the game.”_

 

And for the second time today, Zayn snaps.

 

“Why is that shit on? We can see the game from here, we don’t need to hear a couple of radio hosts.” His voice surprises him. It’s different from how it was this morning. There’s no wavering. It’s steady and calm, with only a slight bite that would probably be missed by anyone who doesn’t know him, who doesn’t understand that his biggest mood swings and emotional insecurities are marked by subtle expressions and an enhanced dryness to his tone.

 

In the corner of the room, wedged between the ceiling and the window that takes up a whole wall of the private box, there’s a single speaker. It’s nothing special, just a brown and black box that looks like it was stuck there years ago as an after thought, just sitting there gathering dust game after game, and nobody except Zayn notices it because he feels like it’s mocking him. Or at least the static garbled words coming out of it are.

 

“What was that, Zayn?” Danielle mumbles. She’s sitting on the other side of Harry, absorbed in her phone. Harry answers for him.

 

“It’s nothing, Dani,” he tells her as he makes his way to the back of the room, dragging a chair over to rest underneath the loudspeaker. He steps up onto the chair, and after half a second of precarious wobbling, he feels around the perimeter of the box and flips a single switch, cutting the commentators off mid-sentence.

 

“Thanks bro,” Zayn mumbles as Harry steps down.

 

Harry comes over and lays his palm gently on Zayn’s shoulder. “Don’t mention it.” He flashes a wide smile adding on in a whisper, “It was kind of annoying. You hungry?” There’s a buffet table of assorted snacks off to the side of the room, and although it’s entertaining as hell to watch Harry go straight for the cubed fruit and chocolate covered strawberries, the idea of eating something right now makes Zayn’s head feel light, and a little fuzzy. Breakfast had been cut short, partially thanks to him, and he hadn’t eaten anything since. Even the glass of water he had tried to force himself to drink, while sitting on the floor by the bedroom in Niall’s apartment debating whether or not he should bother to get up, left such a horrid taste on his tongue that he couldn’t make it past the first couple sips. It was like all the words he hadn’t said that morning mixed with the bitter taste of the ones he hadn’t had the decency to hold back, and now they’re just lingering, in his head, over his tongue, making his stomach turn, and now Harry’s asking him if he’s alright because he looks a little sick and all Zayn can do is nod.

 

Keeping his eyes level, Zayn looks out the window and scans the crowd. Tens of thousands are packed in like sardines, half wearing red, the other half in green. Some have painted their faces, their chests, even written letters on their stomachs to spell out various cheers, matched with the numbers of their favorite players painted on their backs. Like in freshman year, when Zayn had a bunch of people come to the first game of the season with the intention of spelling out “Go Wolverines!” but only half the people showed and they ended up spelling “Go Wolves” which, admittedly, wouldn’t have been so bad if that hadn’t been the mascot of the visiting school.

 

But there’s something eerie about this scene, something not quite right, and it takes a minute for Zayn to place what that something is. Tens of thousands of people have gathered today, come to see three of his best friends play the game they’ve been waiting their whole lives for, yet Zayn can’t hear a single sound. People are waving their arms, a few fathers have their baby girls perched on their shoulders, all dressed up in the home team’s gear. He sees groups of friends already tipsy from the over priced beer, veins popping out of their necks as they sway side to side chanting old rhymes to get the crowd riled up. And maybe that’s why Zayn doesn’t feel like he’s really here. Maybe that’s why it feels like none of this is real, like he’s still sitting by the bedroom door back in Niall’s apartment, head in his hands, wishing Niall could have stayed a moment longer. When he looks out into the stadium, he feels like he’s watching a muted movie, the kind that gets played Wednesday afternoons at a local bar for the day drinkers, who have learned the hard way that bad routines are far too easily set in stone. And what was his routine? His routine was not asking the difficult questions, not wondering why Niall’s new teammates treated him like a friend as opposed to what he actually was, never correcting Niall’s manager, Ben, when he always skirted around the word ‘boyfriend.’ But a year is a long time to keep your mouth shut, even for Zayn. And in the few minutes after his first bite of breakfast, his world, which was small to begin with, felt like it was falling apart. But then again, if a simple question was all it took, was what they have ever good, healthy, and strong to begin with?

 

He’s in this box, on the outside looking in, and he has no idea what to do about it.

 

So he casts his eyes down and is met with a familiar scene.

 

Niall’s on his knees, hunched over helping Liam tie his shoes while Louis dribbles the ball in a circle around the pair, kicking the ball at Liam’s heels every so often, no doubt taking advantage of the fact that Liam can’t move unless he wants to trip over his laces. Zayn can imagine their banter. Louis taunting Liam for not being able to tie his own shoes, Liam trying to explain how his gloves prevent him from doing much of anything besides handling balls, while Niall cackles at the innuendos. In seconds, the three of them are back to their old routine. Liam in goal, with Niall and Louis taking turns defending as the other tries to score. They look at ease, light on their feet, effortless shots that would’ve seen the back of the net if Liam weren’t such a damn good keeper.

 

“They’re going to crush this team, aren’t they?” Danielle says. It’s more of a rhetorical question than anything else, if the fire behind her slightly squinting eyes is anything to go by, like she knows they’ve won already, but Harry answers anyway.

 

“No doubt about it.” He pops a peanut into his mouth, and glances over at Zayn who meets his gaze.

 

“They look good out there,” Zayn struggles to say. “They’re gonna smash it.”

 

~

 

**Halftime**

The first half of the game was absolutely horrendous. And thank God Danielle left when she did, 30 minutes into the game. She would have no doubt made her way down to the pitch and had herself a screaming match with the referee the second that Cosmo’s midfielder elbowed Liam in the face on a corner kick, giving his teammate time to tuck the ball into the bottom right hand corner of the Red Bull’s net, giving them a 1 - 0 lead. But it wasn’t like they had gotten lucky. Oh no, since the first few minutes, the Red Bulls have been off their game. The veteran players were reluctant to give the ball to Niall and Louis, so the rhythm of the game fell into a terrible back and forth between the wing midfielders of the Red Bulls and the Cosmo’s defenders. It was a tough game to watch, Niall was practically tearing the hair off his head when the ref called halftime. Sauntering off the field, Niall keeps his head down, doesn’t even acknowledge it when Louis comes jogging up behind him to put an arm around his shoulders. Louis’ saying something to Niall, being very gesticulative, and all the disheartened blond can do is bring the collar of his jersey up to rest on the bridge his nose, covering the lower half of his face for the few seconds it manages to stay there. All the while Zayn’s sat there with Harry, torn over how he should feel that Niall didn’t look up toward where they were seated, not once. And apparently, Harry noticed.

 

“Zayn, what the hell is going on?” Harry’s voice is soft, which isn’t to say his question loses its demand to be answered. Harry’s fingers are intertwined, his elbows are on the armrests separating the seats, and his head is turned toward Zayn, green eyes fixed on fixed Zayn, who knows they won’t look away until they’ve got a response. Of course, that doesn’t mean it’s an easy question to answer. That doesn’t mean Zayn’s head isn’t spinning, that the walls aren’t collapsing in on him, and that every inch of his body is getting inexplicably feverish in the minute or so before Harry speaks again.

 

Harry grows even softer now, his voice in a lower register, volume only just above a whisper as he asks, “Do you remember how we got through our first finals week at Uni?” Zayn’s face softens at the memory, and he feels his body slowly relaxing as Harry continues.

 

“I’d make doodles on post-its, or write nonsense riddles, and stick them in your books. Then you’d find them while studying, amend them and leave them for me to find, and we’d go back and forth playing that silent game.”

 

Zayn nods. “Yeah, I remember.”

 

“But as the week ended it felt less like a game, and more like, I don’t know, like a painfully drawn out conversation held in crude hieroglyphics or something.”

 

At that, Zayn’s face falls and he nods along silently. “Not to be rude but where exactly are you going with this?”

 

“Zayn, how long have I known you?”

 

“Five years,” he mutters.

 

“After five years of living together, helping each other get through school, did you honestly think I wouldn’t notice something was wrong? I mean, I get not wanting to bring anything up with Danielle in the room, everyone knows you two don’t get on, but she left a while ago and you’re still just sat here with this dead look on your face, and well,” Harry gives a deep sigh, “It’s kind of freaking me out.” Zayn clenches his jaw, grinding his teeth ever so slightly. Harry continues.

 

“I don’t want to play a silent game with you anymore. Look, I just don’t think it’s a coincidence that you come in here, today of all days, looking like half your mind’s miles away, and Niall’s playing arguably the worst game of his life.”

 

And that’s what makes him crack. Never in all his time with Niall did Zayn ever think he would be the reason the love of his life would be failing at something that meant the world to him. And suddenly he can’t be in that room a second longer. When he stands his head feels light, and as he tries to walk towards the door his body feels too loose, like he might fall any second, but Harry stands with him, grabs him by the shoulders and asks him what’s wrong.

 

“I just...I need to get out of this fucking box, Harry.” Zayn pushes the words out and lets his head fall on the the taller boy’s shoulder.

 

“Let’s get you out of here then.” Harry goes to grab their coats as he rests his free hand on Zayn’s back, guiding him to the door. Zayn remembers only a moment too late why his stomach flips when Harry takes his coat, remembers what he stashed away in the inside breast pocket. Harry folds the jackets over his forearm and half the remnants of a smashed phone fall to the floor. Harry’s face falls, his lips form the vague shape of an ‘o,’ and his eyes fixate on the plastic and glass at his feet.

 

“Is that the ph--”

 

“Yep.”

 

Harry chews at his lower lip. “The one that Niall had engra--”

 

“Yeah.”

 

“Oh, Zayn.”

 

“I know.”

 

~

**This Morning**

Niall was always beautiful, with that thick neck you wanted to sink your teeth into, hands that you wanted on your ass every second of every day, and bright, piercing eyes you wanted to drown in. But in the morning, just before he wakes up? Niall’s fucking angelic. And Zayn is the only one allowed to see him like this, the only one with the privilege to memorize how the sunlight spills in from the window, lighting up Niall’s face, casting shadows that highlight his browline, his stunning profile. Zayn lay on his side, one arm under Niall’s head, the other slung over his chest, which was pale except for a few spots of red-ish purple near his nipples, small side effects of what little it takes to get Niall to moan.

 

Zayn slowly rolls onto his back, reaching his free hand over to pick up the clock resting on the nightstand. Green LED numbers that read 7:23 stare back at him.

 

“Ni,” Zayn coos.

 

Niall curls up against Zayn’s chest, his head resting heavy in the crook between Zayn’s shoulder and neck, as he slips one leg over and in between Zayn’s thighs, which is his way of saying, “No babe, I don’t want to get up, but thanks for trying. Nice effort. Try again in an hour.”

 

Zayn brushes the tip of his nose against Niall’s temple while running his fingers through the flat blond fringe.

 

“Time to get up babe. Big day,” Zayn lays a light kiss on one Niall’s eyelids.

 

“Oh nee eh yuh may ee brehfas.”

 

Zayn raises his eyebrows and let’s out heavy laugh. “I’ve no idea what you just said.”

 

“I said,” Niall raises his head, locking eyes with Zayn, “Only if you make me breakfast.”

 

“You got it.” Zayn slips his arm out from under Niall’s head. Before he can get up, he feels Niall put a firm hand his chest. He turns his head back as Niall hooks his fingers around Zayn’s slender neck pulling him in close. Their lips are puffy from sleep but Niall is still slick and sweet despite the night before and his refusal to leave the bed once they’d settled down. Zayn rests his hand on Niall’s hip, and squeezes before he has to pull away and come up for air.

 

“Let’s get some food in you, yeah?”

 

“Hm,” Niall bobs his head until he let’s it smack down on the pillow with a loud thump. He’s also a bit of a drama queen in the mornings.

 

Zayn’s in the middle of making Niall a monster omelette (four eggs, onions, tomatoes, peppers, broccoli, bits of bacon and sausage, topped off with shredded provolone and cheddar cheese) when he feels familiar arms wrap around his waist. Niall presses into Zayn’s backside and rests his head on his shoulders, swaying all the while. Zayn cranes his neck to give him a kiss on the cheek and whisper, “Did the smell of my meat wake you up?”

 

Niall laughs and pulls him closer. “Missed you.”

 

“Well, since you’re up, you mind taking over? I only need a couple minutes.”

 

“And where are you off to?”

 

“Bathroom.” A lie, but a tiny white one at that.

 

“Go on then.” Niall kisses him on the cheek and takes the spatula as Zayn returns to the bedroom.

 

Careful to make as little noise as possible, Zayn closes the door. He makes his way over to his side of the bed, pulling out the large box he secretly stowed away underneath it the last time he stayed over. He traces his fingers over the silver lettering on the sleek grey garment box. Liam never missed a chance to tell him that Milano is the best tailor in the city, but fuck, he may have been understating the quality this whole time, which is saying something. He dresses with lightning speed, and looks at himself in the full length mirror next to Niall’s dresser.

 

It’s fucking magic. The black and white abstract patterned shirt against the narrow cut vest brings out his slim figure, and the pants actually make him look like he has an ass. He opens the door a crack, just wide enough to peek at Niall. He’s finished cooking and is getting ready to sit down. Zayn takes the suit jacket, hooks his index finger in the inside of the collar and throws it over his shoulder. He throws the door wide open, shuffling his feet just a tad so that the heels of his classic black suede Oxford wingtips make a faint click on the hardwood floor.

 

When Niall looks up he nearly misses the chair.

 

“Fucking hell.” Niall can barely breathe out the words as Zayn strides to the kitchen table, draping his jacket on the back of the chair opposite Niall.

 

“Told you it was a big day. You didn’t think I was going to show up to your first major league soccer game looking like I’d just rolled out of bed now, did you?” Niall shakes his head, struggling to hold back a grin. “C’mon Ni, you know me better than that.” Zayn gives his boyfriend a coy smile as he starts digging into his breakfast.

 

“Tell you what though,” Zayn continues after chasing a bite of omelette with a sip of cold water. “I just might give Harry a run for his money as the best dressed arm candy for the Red Bulls starters.”

 

Niall furrows his brow. “Arm candy?”

 

“You and me, waltzing into that stadium, we’re gonna look so good.” Zayn stabs a piece of egg with his fork.

 

“Zayn...” Niall’s stopped eating.

 

“Hm?” Zayn looks up, mouth full of food.

 

“We can’t--we’re...we’re not erm, we’re not going together.” Niall’s voice trails off at the end but it doesn’t matter.

 

Zayn forces his food down. He almost doesn’t hold his gaze. He almost lets himself not feel the rush of humiliation, the genuine pain that comes from staring at Niall as he asks his next question. He sets his fork down beside his plate.

 

“Why?”

 

Niall looks away, first at the ceiling, then at his glass of water, anywhere but at the man sitting in front of him. “Zayn, you know wh--”

 

“No Niall, I really don’t.”

 

“The press will be there, lots of photographers, I know you like your privacy--”

 

“That’s bullshit and you know it.”

 

“I don’t know what you want me to say.”

 

“The truth? Maybe? Christ Niall, just say it.” Zayn’s only barely keeping it together know, he can feel hot tears starting to blur his vision.

 

“Zayn, what’re you talking ab--”

 

“Things haven’t felt right for ages, Ni!” And the floodgates have opened, the words are pouring out of Zayn at an alarming rate. “Ever since that first recruiter came to scout you, you specifically, everything’s been off. It’s like you’ve forgotten there’s a difference between privacy and secrecy, or maybe you’ve-- maybe you forgot--”

 

“Forgot what, Zayn?” Niall’s face is flushed, his eyes turned red, and his are the kind of piercing that have a fire raging behind them. “Forgot that I love you? Forgot that you are absolutely everything to me?”

 

“If I’m everything to you, why the fuck do I feel like some dirty little secret you’ve got to hide away from your new mates?”

 

“Look, Zayn, Mr. Winston said that I should--”

 

That was the last straw.

 

“Winston, Niall? Ben Winston, your manager? Sorry, but I thought you were my boyfriend, not his.”

 

“I am your boyfr--”

 

“Well then why the hell are you having meetings about our relationship with out me? With someone I barely know? Do you know how that feels, Niall?”

 

Niall’s elbows are on the the table now, his head is in his hands, tugging at his hair.

 

“Ni, it feels like I’m being cut out of my own relationship. Like I’m only your boyfriend inside these walls. I swear, you love that new uniform more tha--”

 

Niall stands, interrupting Zayn. His face his like stone, more aggressive than Zayn’s ever seen, and he wastes no time getting to the bedroom to collect his gear. Zayn follows, refusing to let go.

 

“What, you’re just going to walk away? Not talk about it because running is so much easier, is that it? Abandon this like you abandoned your fami--”

 

Suddenly Niall’s face is no longer stone. It’s soft, boyish, with silent tears collecting at the tip of his nose only to fall drop by drop onto the floor.

 

Fuck.

 

“Niall, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have brought them up I--”

 

“You know that was different, you were there when it happened for Christ’s sake.”

 

“Ni...”

 

Of all the things to say, Zayn had to reopen Niall’s deepest wound what the fucking hell.

 

Niall turned to face Zayn, coat on, bag in hand as he continued, “I brought you home with me that first spring we were together, and they made it clear they didn’t like what they saw. It has always been you, Zayn, you are my family, you and the boys. You over everything.”

 

“Niall,” Zayn followed him back into the kitchen, arms out, silently begging him to turn around.

 

“I’m gonna be late,” Niall mumbles, wiping his eyes with the cuff of his jacket as he brushes past Zayn and leaves the apartment.

 

It’s not like Zayn wants him to go, but how can he say, “Hey, sorry for bringing up your homophobic family in a fight as a shallow way of trying to get you to understand how I feel” in a way that will make him want to stay. Just for a moment, just so Zayn could touch him tenderly and make a tacit agreement that they would make time to sort everything out. But no. It takes five seconds to get from the bedroom to the front door, and Zayn’s brain just isn’t fast enough. All that time he spent studying, all the work he put into getting that biological engineering degree, and he didn’t know when to shut up. Maybe that’s just how he works, how he ticks. Maybe he only knows extremes; either keep everything inside, or let it all out, unfiltered, until someone else gets hurt bad enough for him to snap out of it. So Zayn gives in to the weight of his bones, and sinks down to the floor with his back sliding along the door frame. He pulls his legs in close, with a tight grip on his ankles, and as he’s about to rest his head on his knees, he hears his phone ringing in his pocket. It’s Harry. Harry, who’s got a boyfriend, who holds hands with his boyfriend in public, who’s boyfriend also happens to be on the Red Bulls, and Zayn’s trying to make the phone shut up but the screen is wet from his tears and why are touch screens so fucking stupid just shut the fuck up for fUCK’S SAKE JUST--

 

And for the first time that day, Zayn snaps.

 

~

 

“Right, so that’s when you threw the phone at the wall?”

 

“Yeah. I felt like a proper piece of shit as soon as I’d done it though, that’s why I scrambled to find all the pieces.”

 

“Did you think you could put it back together?” Harry asks.

 

“No, of course not, but I just...I just wanted it, you know?” Harry nods. “Like, it was special, and Niall had given it to me out of nowhere, and I just, I dunno, I just knew I’d feel guilty if I didn’t have at least some of it with me.”

 

“Hm,” Harry hums in understanding.

 

“And look, Harry, the fact that it was you who was calling me, and all that stuff I was thinking about you and Lou, I-- it could have been anyone calling and I would’ve come up with some excuse to--”

 

“Hey, hey, you don’t have to apologize for that. I know you know that Louis and I haven’t always had it all figured out, you were just upset.”

 

Zayn and Harry are still sat in the luxury box as Zayn finishes detailing the events of that morning when the second half begins.

 

The Red Bulls start with the ball and the forwards’ first move is..is to give the ball to...Louis?

 

Wait. What?

 

Louis turns, touches the ball back toward the leftmost defender as the Cosmos players come forward and fill in the empty space on the field. The Red Bulls defender carries the ball up the field, drawing in the nearest green shirted midfielder, leaving Niall wide open, and then, well. Then they get to watch a decent game of soccer. In a matter of seconds, Niall has the ball at his feet, and he does a half turn to face the opposing goal. He’s got the whole field wide open, he can see every option and a right wing midfielder with his arm up grabs his attention. The name on the back of the shirt says, ‘Devine.’

 

Niall carries the ball a few moments longer until he’s a few yards past the midfield line, where he sends the ball sailing down the pitch to Devine, who settles it down and presses onward until he’s nearly at other end of the field. All the while, the other players are keeping perfect pace and spacing with Niall and Louis, and Zayn swears, a brand new team has stepped onto the field. There’s a scuffle at the sideline, and the ball goes out of bounds. It’s a Red Bulls throw-in from the right side of the pitch, almost aligned with the Cosmo’s 18-yard box.

 

The team settles down as Niall jogs up the field. He’s twirling the ball in his hands, calling for some players to step in, others to change their pace and drag defenders alongside them. With textbook perfect timing, he throws the ball in, right to Devine’s feet who does a quick and sends the ball flying at eye level, right across the field.

 

Louis’ in perfect alignment and he starts to jump just as the ball losing altitude. He hits the ball with his forehead mid jump and a split second later, the ball is at the back of the Cosmo’s net.

 

1 - 1, courtesy of the Tommo.

 

Louis runs to Niall and takes advantage of his wide open arms to jump into a kind of straddle-hug. The pair are about to fall over when out of nowhere, Liam fucking Payne joins the group hug, balancing them out and guiding them back the midfield.

 

Meanwhile, Harry’s completely lost it, so proud he’s almost speechless, and Zayn couldn’t be happier. Actually, Harry looks like he might cry, but Zayn can see to that later. He stands up, slips his jacket on over his suit and tells Harry to put his coat on.

 

“What are you doing?”

 

Zayn smiles. “Getting out of this box.”

 

“And going where?”

 

“Where we ought to be,” Zayn nods to a section behind the players' benches with a few empty seats. “Right by our boys.”

 

~

**Second Half**

It feels like his first game all over again. The smell of cheap food in the air, the roar of the stadium full people just as invested in the match as Zayn. Then of course, there’s that foundational noise, that reverberating hum present at all sporting events.

 

Harry is able to charm his way past two stadium ushers, and in no time at all they snag two seats in the front row right at the midfield line. Harry spends the second half bickering with Cosmos fans seated near them, bantering with fellow Red Bulls supporters while Zayn has to remind him that when he’s had a couple beers at a game Louis’ playing, he can get a little, well. Graphic would be putting it lightly. Let’s just say a tipsy Harry watching Louis play soccer means people seated nearby are subject to the vocalization of every dirty thought that pops into his head.

 

It’s the 88th minute of the game and Zayn’s got his eyes on his best friend to make sure he doesn’t accidentally sit on anyone’s lap, when Harry grips his arm and points down the field. Zayn whips his head around, leans slightly forward to get a better look.

 

Louis’ got the ball and he’s dribbling across the field in a diagonal path, from the left side to the right. Niall sprints, overlapping Louis as the pair switch sides. Louis passes one defender, now two, and before a third can slow him down any longer, he chips the ball up and over the last Cosmos defender, meeting Niall as he runs onto the edge of the 18 yard box. A quick first touch to settle, a second to nudge it forward, and Niall only needs a third to smack it into the back of the net, but there isn’t enough time because a Cosmos player slides into Niall’s legs from behind. Niall falls, sliding a few feet into the Cosmos box, tucking his legs in as the ref goes to blow his whistle. Without thinking, Zayn yells at the top of lungs, voice deep and commanding, “Hey, ref, what the fuck!”

 

Shit. He probably shouldn’t have done that.

 

Nearly all the players on the field are looking at him, but Harry comes to the rescue slurring all the way, “Yeah, ref, card that jerk!” Which, admittedly isn’t as threatening as Harry no doubt thinks it is, but he looks pretty damn pleased with himself, and in the end that’s what matters, right?

 

Thankfully the referee decides to ignore them both and goes to squat, butt resting on his heels, next to Niall. He’s sitting up now, and Louis’ standing guard next to him staring down anyone else who tries to come within a yard Niall. The three chat for a couple seconds and Louis takes Niall’s hand, helping him stand up while the ref calls over the player who fouled Niall and gives him a yellow card. As the Cosmos player leaves the field and his sub comes in, the referee blows his whistle a second time and points at the penalty spot with a firm arm, and the crowd becomes overwhelmingly loud.

 

Half the stadium is booing and the other half is cheering, but Zayn hasn’t said another word, hasn’t made a sound. He’s just standing rigid, eyes fixed on Niall, willing him to look his direction. He does.

 

Niall actually looks up to the luxury box first, and upon finding it empty, his face goes blank and his eyes widen under a furrowed brow. He scans the crowd, praying that by sheer luck he’ll find Zayn among the thousands of unfamiliar faces. But he already knows where to look because where else would Zayn be besides sitting in the same position he sat at for every school game he went to, the front row behind the players benches at the midfield line.

 

Zayn’s body goes slack when he catches Niall’s eyes, and he gently raises his eyebrows and flattens his lips into a line.

 

Niall’s shoulders relax as he returns Zayn’s look with a gentle smile and a slight, firm nod. Not skipping a beat, Niall turns around and takes his place a few paces behind the pre-set ball. Players from both teams gather at the edge of the 18 yard box, ready for whatever happens next.

 

And for once, the stadium gets quiet, the collective volume of twenty five thousand people falling to a calm hum as they hold their breath. The ref blows his whistle, giving Niall the all clear.

 

He takes a moment, runs up to the ball and tucks it away into the upper left hand corner of the net, where the keeper has no chance of stopping it.

 

The stadium explodes in a roar of celebration, and the howls of defeated, disheartened Cosmos fans. Zayn jumps and throws his fists in the air, almost punching Harry in the face as he goes in for a hug that turns into more of a lift. They embrace and before Zayn has to beg Harry to put him down, the ball is back in play. This time there’s no pressure, though. The stadium’s relaxed, like everyone knows what everyone else is thinking. This game belongs to the New York Red Bulls.

 

~

 

Louis and Liam were the last to emerge from the locker room, the former so engaged in describing to Liam just how exhilarating scoring the first game of the season was that he almost doesn’t see Zayn and Harry standing under the low watt hallway lighting. Harry clears his throat and Louis stops mid sentence so he can take Harry in his arms. Granted, Zayn’s seen his fair share of obnoxiously romantic and tender Harry/Louis moments, but this one puts all the others to shame.

 

“Oi!” Liam strides toward Zayn, arms outstretched. “C’mere, you.”

 

No amount of mental preparation can make him ready for one of Liam’s emotional hugs, but Zayn tries anyway, barely able to handle the reality of having his body crushed with love by the world’s biggest sap.

 

“Li--I-- I can’t breathe--”

 

“Shit, sorry mate.”

 

“Christ Payno, I told you not to worry about them, they’re gonna be fine. Always are,” Louis says, putting a hand on Liam’s shoulder. “You alright, bro?” He asks Zayn.

 

“Niall told you?”

 

“Yeah,” Liam answers. “He was a right mess when he came in this morning, but he wouldn’t talk to us ’til half time.”

 

“Though from what Harold told me, he did quite a number on you as well,” Louis says as he reaches an arm out and gives Zayn’s shoulder a comforting squeeze.

 

“Harry,” Zayn half groans, “Where did you find time to tell them?”

 

“You’d be surprised at the kind of information you can share just by using emojis. Plus you were kind of busy, dealing with things and all that.”

 

“Well said, Harry. Very well said.”

 

“Thanks Lou, I appreciate it.”

 

“Well lads,” Liam says, “Wish I could stay but Dani’s staying late at the office tonight and I ought to bring her something to eat.” He hugs Louis and Harry goodbye, and gives Zayn a solid pat on the shoulder, leaving the three of them in the hall.

 

“Listen, Zayn,” Louis starts. “Niall’s out on the pitch.”

 

“Go get him, Zayn,” Harry jumps in.

 

“Right, but first give us a proper hug!”

 

Zayn wraps his arms around Louis, says his goodbyes for the evening, and slips into the locker room. Maybe he should be thinking of something to say, taking his time, but the thought of seeing Niall, touching him, holding him, overwhelms Zayn so much that before he knows it, he’s on the field, and Niall’s there, stood at the very center. The sun is beginning to set over New York, and Niall, well.

 

Niall looks like he’s on fire.

 

The light hitting his hair makes the dark brown bits around the back and sides of his head look auburn, while the blond feathery fringe on top looks almost golden. He’s dressed in a simple white shirt, black skinnies, and white high top converse. He’s got a ball at his feet that he’s fiddling with. Rolling it away with the outside of his foot, only to roll it back with the bottom of the same foot, just grazing the top of the ball. Zayn could watch him do this forever, but he feels like he owes Niall so much right now, it would be wrong to stay like this, just drinking him in, for even a moment longer. He steps out onto the field, feels the springy turf against his shoes, calls out to Niall as he approaches.

 

He turns around, the ball still at his feet, and Zayn swears Niall’s never looked so tired. Zayn barely has his mouth open when Niall begins to speak, his voice shaky, almost shy, and a tad hoarse.

 

“Zayn, I’m so sorry for this morning, I was shit to you, and you never deserved that.”

 

“Ni, no. It’s me who should be apologizing.”

 

Niall just shakes his head and takes a step closer to Zayn as he continues. “Just, just let me go first alright?”

 

Zayn nods.

 

“Thanks.”

 

“Of course, whatever you need.”

 

“That’s the thing,” Niall says, “I’ve only ever needed you, and I’ve pushing you away for a whole year, and that’s--it’s not how you--how I--ever want to treat someone I care about. Someone I love. And I kept giving you bullshit excuses because,” Niall swallows, “I was afraid that if you knew the real reason you’d, I dunno, bail. Think I wouldn’t be able to handle it all.”

 

“Niall, what’re you on about?”

 

They’re only inches away from each other now but Niall still feels distant. He takes a deep breath, looks up at the fading sky and then right at Zayn, the boy who made him forget what it was ever like to feel bad about himself, what it felt to be lonely, and tells him the truth. Tells him how he was so afraid that he couldn’t handle what the future had brought him. He was terrified that the intense scheduling, the shit he’d have to deal with from fans, reporters, paps, even his new teammates, would tear them apart. That night after night he’d have to choose, his job or Zayn, and one night too many he’d make the wrong choice and there wouldn’t be a ‘them’ anymore.

 

Zayn doesn’t let Niall say another word. The warmth between their bodies swells as Zayn locks his lips with Niall’s and gently lays his hands to rest on his boyfriend’s hips, guiding him closer. He’s salty, from sweat and tears, and they can feel each other’s hearts ready to burst out of their chests, but their eyes are closed and for a moment the world doesn’t exist except for the warmth of the fading sun on their faces and the first warm breeze of spring caressing their skin. They pull away for second and Zayn doesn’t let another pass before wrapping his arms completely around Niall, his palms resting firmly on the broadest part of his back.

 

“You know I’ve got you, Niall, that all I ever want is to see you happy.”

 

“In that case, I’ve got a question to ask you.”

 

Zayn loosens his hold to look at Niall face to face, but doesn’t pull away. “Anything.”

 

“Will you move in with me, to a brand new apartment?”

 

“Move in with-- wait, what?”

 

“Well,” Niall says, slowly returning to his old self, “Ben said I could keep the game ball, and I thought it might make a nice center piece, above a fireplace maybe?”

 

Zayn doesn’t even try to hold back his laugh. “You always did have the strangest taste in decor.”

 

“So is that a yes?”

 

Zayn slips a hand into one of Niall’s back pockets, Niall grins and turns the ball over in his hands, and they walk together, away from the lengthening shadows and back towards the locker room.

 

“You fucking know it.”

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> thank you so much for reading!!!


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